


Belligerent Intentions

by unqueen



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, Korra being vengefully naughty, Unsatisfied, alas poor reformed villain, noatak is tranquil but dies a little inside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4289184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unqueen/pseuds/unqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Divergent interlude shortly after chapter 295 of "The Castaway" universe, an Amorra epic which updates regularly on fanfiction.net and is written by valkerymillenia of tumblr. </p><p>Korra is possessive of her enemy-come-lover, Amon-turned-Noatak. Thus displeased about his exposure to burlesque dancing while following some Agni Kai member, she decides to tease him with a show of her own to cheer herself up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belligerent Intentions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raven_Hallowryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven_Hallowryn/gifts).



> Everyone should read "The Castaway", the Amorra story that diverged from the end of LoK season one in order to pair the fallen villain and the powerful avatar up. It's an epic stuffed with supernatural and spiritual adventures, spirit-guided pregnancy, politics, as well as lots of action along all wrapped inside an airtight plot. The universe postpones the latter seasons of Korra while intending to still see them through, only along with the added companionship and diplomatic and general plot entanglements of a recovered Amon/Noatak by Korra's side. This little ficlet takes place after chapter 295, and therefore still before the events of season 2 of Korra canon according to the story written by valkerymillenia of tumblr. While the story is posted on ao3, it's only a few chapters along whereas 295-and-counting chapters are currently posted, with the story being updated regularly on FFN under the username raven_hallowryn. She's pretty brilliant.
> 
> This piece is not necessarily a canon part of the universe so much as a fanfiction of a fanfiction. It assumes that Korra is still angry at Noatak after he returns from his fight with Agni Kai members.

Korra watches him with suspicion. It's strange how she's never really worried before about whether others may notice how attractive he is in spite of the scars marring his handsome face as per an uneven spider’s web, its patterns now weakened relics thanks to the healing glow with which she rescued the city. Or maybe not so strange since he continuously insisted that the marks irreparably corrupted his appearance. Either way, she’s been watching him like a hawk ever since he returned from the Paper Screen. True, he didn't go there to watch women strip, but the women stripped anyway and it boiled her blood all the same. It doesn’t matter that they turned out to be master gang assassins in disguise, either. Maybe her previous incarnation, Aang, would have understood about the circumstances. Korra is not Aang, though. And Avatar Korra just doesn't do what-ifs and half-ways; she's pissed even if he had only gone there to tail some seedy gang lacky.

This morning, after taking care of Nilak's feeding, Avatar Korra devises a plan. Well, in reality, it’s more of a scheme than a plan, given its sheer pettiness-- not that she ever let that stop her. After all, she slept the past two nights with her back turned to him. What's more, she spent the previous day watching him and pouting only to look away whenever he met her eye-- only to then go right back to watching him when he turned away. It was like the moon and sea, push and pull between yin and yang, a revolving door where Korra doesn’t greet him in the morning but follows him out of the bed once Nilak releases her breast with a full stomach. So, no, pettiness isn't about to slow her down. Since the morning diaper change is already taken care of, courtesy of Noatak, Korra is left to simply place Nilak on the little alcove crib downstairs before peeking into the living room where he sits reading the paper.

As usual, he was up before she was. She herself is an earlier bird today than usual, though, despite the schedule marking the day a lazy one for her. Instead of crawling back into bed for another couple hours of sleep, Korra stands by the foot of the stairs for a long moment, still as a vase in the corner, before she leisurely strolls into to the adjoined room containing her potentially errant lover.  
  
He looks good wearing his reading glasses, gaze skimming across today's news. He looks every bit the scholar he sort of is. "Good morning," he greets without looking up.

Instead of pouting and snubbing him in faith with her manners yesterday, she gives him a smile. "Good morning."

The former Equalist leader looks up, raising an eyebrow at her, immediately sensing something amiss. "What are you up to, Korra?"

"Who," she says, "me?"

After two days spent on the receiving end of her offended mood, he’s a little perturbed to find her suddenly speaking to him as though nothing had happened. Noatak stares right on through as she approaches from behind the couch, hips swinging.

He sees a flash of pretty teeth when she makes herself comfortable beside him, casually, one toned leg swung over the other.

It is only then that Noatak notices that she's wearing a loose shirt-- one of his, in fact, wide at the shoulders, stiff material folding over her like a balloon-- and nothing else. Her strong, shapely legs are bare, smooth caramel running from under whipped topping white fabric. He frowns back down into the newspaper, suspicious. There's no reason for her to be dressed today like that-- and she is dressed as such very deliberately, it’s written all over her face—her appearance like an overturned coffee cup, its contents spilling out in the shape of beautiful legs. There's also no reason for her to be sitting beside him now as if poised to tell him a story, certainly not after the other night when she'd made it clear that she was still jealous and upset, despite her good humour about the situation, her on-off behavior the following day had proven that. He knows her moods well enough to know that she hasn't yet forgiven him about that. Even if he didn't, the tug at the corners of those plump lips trying not to split into a smirk and the devilish look in her eyes give her away.

He watches. She reaches over to take his coffee cup from the table, his shirt pulls tightly over her torso as she does, her breasts dipping to strain against the fabric. Her lovely dark skin is just visible beneath the white and he can glimpse hardened brown nipples poking at the cotton. Noatak takes a steadying breath. Korra does not sip his sweetened coffee, just brings it up as she reclines back to inhale the strong smell of caffeine softened by the sweet scent of cream. The smell wafts from her to him on the exhale, and she suddenly looks more delicious than ever, all delectable brown figure teasingly shrouded in that white shirt—his white shirt.

Thanks to the added power of the reading glasses along with the angle she sits against the sieved morning sunlight, he can actually see all the finer flaws where the clothing fails to hide her curved figure. He instructs himself not to reach down on, to resist the urge to loosen the string of his trousers, which already are straining against a quickly awakening erection, merely at the suggested shape of her body.

He hears a soft hum. Then, a hand begins to trail up his shoulder, fingers dancing graceful steps across his shoulders to drape her arm across the back of his neck. Suddenly, she presses herself against him, her toned arms wrapped around broad shoulders and her supple breasts pressing flush against his arm. He bites back a sharp breath, already well aware of what she's up to.

"Korra--"

She leans in close to him, her breathing tickling the scar tissues stretched across his face along with the skin of his neck.

"Good morning,  _kuluk_ ," she greets him anew, her pretty, smoky voice blowing the mint on her breath over him.

 _Kuluk_ , husband; usually an endearment in water tribe tongue, but not today. This sort of intimacy is far from uncommon between them, but today Noatak is aware that she plans to take out her anger on him this way-- by enticing him, only to then leave him wanting. Against reason, however, the idea actually arouses him. The thought of her teasing him only to deny him, rousing his desire for her and then withdrawing herself like a sadist, sends his blood speeding through his veins, rushing to his increasingly interested erection. Outwardly calm, Noatak inwardly curses.

Korra’s blue eyes move into his line of sight, early sunlight from the cracks between the curtains dancing in white radiant patterns over the lovely dark of soft and smooth skin. He grips the newspaper tightly as she leans closer.

"What's the matter, Noatak?" she asks, as though she doesn't know.

"Nothing in particular," he says with his deep rusted voice, eyes trained on some news about a man's lost cat-deer returning to him with a winning lottery ticket. Not to be ignored, Korra blows on the hairs at the back of his neck and he has to close his eyes for a second. It might have been cute, pleasant, were he not half annoyed and half hard already. He’s seen her naked countless times, but this state of partial dress arouses his expansive imagination, leading his libido to nag at him about grabbing her and lifting up the shirt to see what she's wearing underneath.

He tries to think of less scintillating things like running water or forests, but it's difficult when she nestles her face into the crook of his neck. Noatak hears more than he feels her take a deep breath of his usual morning scent of soap, aftershave and touches of cologne. And then it's hard to think at all when he feels her begin to nip at him. Her teeth slide over his neck, pulling at the skin softly, before releasing; her hands roam over him, one at the back of his head messing up his hair, the other mapping his chest. The morning is cool, but the invading sunlight lends it warmth. Her touches mimic the ambience, the cool feeling of her silky hair on his neck is a contrast with her hot breath, making him close his eyes.

He should move away, probably, but he doesn't, despite himself. A part of him wants to stay here and suffer, it seems.

As he loses himself just a moment in his inner struggle, she fists one hand in his neatly slicked back hair, earning a soft hiss, his strong jawline jutting up prominently with that motion. She turns him towards her then she presses her lips to his, darting her tongue into his mouth when his lips part in surprise. Her mouth moves against his in a coaxing, languid kiss, tongue gliding and sliding across his. He tries to kiss her back, pushing against her tongue with his, but she pulls away as quickly as she dove in.

A string of saliva falls down the canyon between their separated lips. Korra’s gaze holds him with a look that is almost as dark as the night-- and above all, possessive. Then she leans in to press her lips against the taut flesh of his shoulder.

"You're mine," she utters against his skin, almost conversationally, as though she's stating simple fact. The sky is blue, water is wet, Noatak belongs to Korra. His wild-beautiful lover proceeds then to plant kisses up his neck till she lays lips at his adam's apple, an act that he decides as unfair. "And you're going to regret it if you ever forget that." With that, she releases his hair and drags her fingers across the nape of his neck.

Those words send a shudder throughout him, his solid, muscular frame trembling, though he does an admirable job of hiding it. She sees nonetheless, and a triumphant expression flickers across her face upon the reaction. He makes no sudden movement, enraptured by her boldness, and honestly curious of how far she plans to stretch this out, stretch him out.

“I never argued that, Korra, and I don't intend to,” he says, his deep voice reverberating his throat against her lips. He attempts to stay vigilant, to guess how far he should let himself enjoy this vengeful attitude of hers. For now, he lets her continue, his newspaper hanging limp in his hands.

She does not reply, at least not verbally. She relaxes, reclining towards him, her lips detaching from his throat. The hand roaming his chest slides over the somewhat barrel-sloped cage of his ribs, flitting over muscles taut and sinuous underneath his shirt. Korra goes further, hand tracing a zig-zag pattern over his defined abdominal muscles to where his shirt meets his pants. Then she goes further still, circling the prominent tent in his lap, just shy of touching the restrained length of his clothed erection. Noatak fights the urge to cant his hips upwards. Her teasing hand is so very tempting, but, no, he will not give her the satisfaction of knowing she's excited him so much, so soon.

Instead, he turns to look at her, wanting to watch her in order to remind himself to restrain his own urge to buck and move against her hand. The move turns out to be counterproductive. Her thick fanned out eyelashes painting spider-like shadows across her cheeks, her blue eyes are cast downwards; she's watching herself touch him.

"Korra," he says, protesting and pleading at once. His eyes drop downwards, hungry for any glimpse of her underwear beneath that shirt of hers, of his.

Korra smirks when she catches the direction of his gaze, then locks her own gaze with his. "Sorry. No panties on, old man. I'm enjoying the breeze down there."

His throat goes tight at her words and his Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow the tension away. "Ah." he verbalizes in deep baritone following the short pause, shooting for casual and missing. "Any reason why?"

The smirk on her face broadens, her eyes landing on his throat where she noticed that subtle movement. "Oh, I've always felt like not wearing any underwear one of these days. Your shirts are long enough to cover me anyway, so..."

"I see," he says, though what he means is that he wants to.

Korra rises to her knees, drawing his eye to the lower curve of her ass peeking from beneath the veil of his stolen garment. "Don't believe me? I can show you," she ventures, “right now, how naked I am under this thing. Let me prove it.”

And at that she stands, the cool morning air immediately invading where she'd been pressed against him, the loss drawing a shiver from him. She stands on display before him, hands gripping over the white hem at the bottom of the shirt in order to lift it higher over her body. He sits wordlessly and watches her without a word of protest or encouragement. By now he can guess her next move. The mental image, the anticipation, of Korra lifting the fabric away to reveal herself-- her upper body shrouded, her lower body becoming more and more exposed-- is exciting him. If she wants to end this game by flashing him and walking away, he's happy to play along.

His Korra-- because she is his as he is hers-- holds his gaze, her ocean-bright blue against his steel-washed blue, before her eyes flit downwards, drawing his attention back down to where her fingers pinch the very edges of the shirt.

She lifts slowly, agonizingly slowly. His breath catches in his throat at the exhibition. Her tawny brown skin looks glowingly gorgeous against white. Her shoulders, arms, breasts, stomach, everything is covered on the top under the bulky and shapeless fabric, making her look almost demure. Below however, she is naked, ready to be exposed at the slightest movement like some lewd goddess of temptation. Noatak sees the apex of her thighs, her smooth slit slowly but surely coming into view.

And then she drops her hands and smooths down the shirt nonchalantly, bouncing once up onto her tiptoes before plopping back down flat to her bare feet. Korra turns around as though she's forgotten that he's even there, yawning as she pads delicately across the room and makes her way through the kitchen doorway.

Noatak sighs, deflating back against the couch even as tension sings through his body, the newspaper long forgotten at his feet. He takes off his reading glasses, folding them and tossing them on the seat beside him. One arm rises up to drape over his head now crowned with slightly messy black hair, his eyes closing. He can still see Korra in his mind's eye, that image of her lifting the shirt to expose herself to his eyes, white fabric suspended over her inviting core --he would reach out to softly finger her with his thumb, press into her folds, watch her grow wet from his attention, then have her sit on his lap with that shirt bunched above her waist and…

His pants now restrain a full-fledged hard on, and a curse finds itself under his breath. He had thought he had prepared himself, that he was ready to endure her abandoning him in his arousal, yet she had been one step ahead of him.

 


End file.
